Carnation
by Autorain
Summary: Can love transcend more than one life time? Dante Alighieri, of the Divine Comedy fame, once loved a woman named Beatrice Portinari. One Dante and one Beatrice meet, perhaps by fate or pure coincidence, during a dangerous epoch of ebony and ivory… with her delivering pizza to the renowned demon hunter.
1. Speak

**Mission 1: Speak**

"So… Beatrice 'Ice' Difolco. Looks like you're set for the job."

"Um, Mr. Fredi, it's Bice. With a B," she added delicately. "Anyway, thank you, sir. Where should I start?"

Mr. Fredi peered at Bice over his wire-rimmed glasses, meticulously scrutinizing the mere slip of a girl. She smiled sheepishly and ran her hand through her long hair, sweeping it into a most unprofessional dark mess. Wayward fronds stuck up at all angles, like a crown, at the top of her head, and she endeavored to push them down with a slim, restless forefinger.

"Bice, then! My apologies!" exclaimed Mr. Fredi with a jovial laugh. The salt-and-pepper bristles of his moustache twitched slightly every time he opened his mouth. "Well, let me bring you out to the front. I'll show you the ropes."

"Alright," said Bice, unable to suppress a smile. She had taken quite a shine to Mr. Fredi, starting right at the moment she walked into his café to apply for a job. He was certainly very amiable, middle-age with hewn features and an avuncular manner reminiscent of her father, who managed a pizza joint in her youth. She was glad to be serving and delivering her preferred comfort food once again at Mr. Fredi's establishment, redolent with the homely scent of old-fashioned herbs and ingredients. It reminded her of childhood.

She tailed closely behind Mr. Fredi, moving from the back office to the front. The hem of her lacy black skirt brushed up against the doorframe, and she found herself fidgeting, pulling absentmindedly at a loose thread in the trim. Maybe she was just the slightest bit nervous, seeing as she was fresh out of college and still seeking out a more proper means of living. However, of all the odd jobs that she had taken. Mr. Fredi's assigned uniform was among her favorites. The only requirement he had stipulated was to wear a standard red and black jacket, just to distinguish his workers from those of the competition at Pizza-1. It was form-fitting a comfortable, although the two bright and dark colors almost seemed to blanch her lightly bronzed complexion, as she observed in the freezer's reflective metallic surface.

"First thing, before you start delivering," explained Mr. Fredi, "is to know where the strawberry sundaes here. We've got a regular who gives us good business, buys tons of pizza and ice cream. It's all he eats. We really don't want to lose him to anyone else."

"Pizza and ice cream, huh?" mused Bice. "Aww, he sounds like a little kid. I like that. So, what's his name? I'll be sure to treat him well…"

The little bell set over the front door, designed to alert interior servers should anyone cross the threshold, chased away the quiet's sanctity with its dissonant jingle-jangle. Its din at once set Bice's nerves on fire in responsive and tumultuous vibration. Work was about to begin.

She lifted her dark eyes, slowly, and locked her gaze with that of the single most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. His eyes were like blue, glacial lakes, glassy and knowing, silent as an unstrung harp. He exuded an alluring, mysterious, almost ethereal presence, with his rugged good looks and apparently bleached silver hair, which fell neatly to the length of his chin. Bice entertained the odd thought that his fringe, falling carelessly across his brow, obscured his vision as he blindly threw himself into a stool at the counter, the red leather cloth of his long-coat splaying out as he did so. He set his elbows on the surface, nonchalantly, and a maddening blush began to suffuse Bice's cheeks in a fitful tide of progress. The muscular contours of his chest rippled beneath their covering of a simple black top, and Bice had to steal her glance away to avoid further embarrassment. Her whole soul wavered, shook like a wind-swept leaf, at the mere sight of him.

"Speak of the devil," said Mr. Fredi. "Here he is. Dante."

"Dante," she whispered, thoughtfully, rolling his name on her tongue like a marble.

A crooked grin quirked the handsome man's lips. "So, you're the new girl. It's a pleasure. Your name is…?"

She was melting at the sound of his husky, fascinating voice, so deeply entranced that the words barely registered against the pounding of her heart. Focus, she thought to herself, because there was no time to be a superficial, lovesick fool. "I-I'm Ice. I mean, Bice, sorry. It's Bice."

"Bice. Cute," Dante commented, still maintaining that irresistible smile. "Say, Bice, do you mind grabbing me a strawberry sundae? I'd really appreciate that."

"Of course!" she said. It would be a miracle had her expression not betrayed her excitement.

"I'll leave you to that," said Mr. Fredi. He sauntered off into his office, presumably to file away papers and take care of business—or leave Bice alone with Dante. She didn't know.

"Strawberry sundaes, huh?" Bice asked, retrieving Dante's order from the freezer.

"Hey, a guy's gotta eat."

She regarded the sundae with a sort of nostalgic fondness. The strawberries, ripe and red and bursting with succulent juices, perched atop a generous helping of vanilla ice cream reminded her strongly of home, of that little ice cream parlor at the corner of Montvale and Main. It was like taking a walk down memory lane.

"I'll have to steal one sometime, try it for myself."

"Heh. Don't get yourself caught, but it's worth it," said Dante.

He reached for it, perhaps a bit too eagerly, and knocked it cleanly from Bice's unsteady hand. Fruit and cream went flying through the air, almost in slow motion, as the glass clattered down to earth with a profound, dull thud.

She couldn't help but let a laugh bubble up from her throat. She ran a small hand down the front of her jacket, smearing the ice cream over the material's red and black expanse.

"I-I'm sorry 'bout that!" Dante said, rising abruptly from his seat.

Bice giggled again and waved him off dismissively. "Don't worry. No need for that. Jacket saved me." She shook her head in mock rebuke and plucked a strawberry from the crimson folds of her uniform before popping it discreetly into her mouth.

Dante leaned over the counter, napkin in hand, and dabbed gingerly at the creamy mess cascading down her front. Bice could feel warmth pervade her entire face when he smiled up at her.

"Th-thank you," she managed.

"It's no problem, compared to what I did…"

"At least I'll smell nice now."

Her hand found his, swaddled in the leather material of one fingerless glove, and guided him to a mass amount of ice cream situated at her neckline. His skin was velvety to the touch, and, for a moment, the only thing she could see and feel was him.

"What was that?" demanded Mr. Fredi's gruff shout from the office. He dashed into the open and watched, with a look of utter incredulity plastered on his countenance, as Dante helped Bice cleaned the strawberry sundae off her outfit.

"What happened?" he finally asked, able to make himself sound moderately serious.

"That was my fault, completely," answered Dante, backing away and rising to his full height. It was almost unbelievable how tall and slender he was. Bice's naturally diminutive stature paled in comparison to his.

"N-no," she interjected, "I wasn't careful enough…"

"Oh no, she's being shy," countered Dante. "Really, it's on me."

"That's quite alright," said Mr. Fredi, who then applied himself to the task of wiping the last sundae remnants from the counter with a pocket handkerchief. "Nothing serious. Don't worry about paying, Dante. I know you're perpetually in debt."

Dante chuckled softly, mostly to himself, as Bice launched into another round of uncontrollable laughter. She didn't know how else to compensate for the awkwardness and ensuing silence of the incident.

"Well, it's been fun," said Dante, his attention turned to a circular clock mounted on the wall. "I've got a job to take care of. So, Bice, I'll be seeing you around. You too, Fredi."

"Oh wait," called Bice. "Your sundae…"

"It'll have to wait." He sounded disappointed. "But, I've got a pizza on order tonight. Maybe you'll be my delivery girl."

Bice had edged her way closer to Dante, standing behind the counter, nearer and yet so far away. "I hope so. Bye, take care."

He nodded, gave a casual wave of the hand, and went on his way, disappearing almost as fast as he had arrived.

"Can… can I deliver that pizza to him? Please?" Bice asked.

Mr. Fredi's smile faded by a fraction. "Well, you see, Dante—to put it in plainer terms—is a demon hunter. Just to let you know, his line of work is extremely dangerous. A lot of our guys ran into his prey and… well, it wasn't the most fun experience out there, so…"

"…Huh. I heard rumors about the vermin around here. Good thing Dante can keep them in check. He made a living out of hunting devils... Dante, he's just so cool, am I right?" murmured Bice, spiraling off on a Dante-centric tangent.

"I suppose you could put it that way," said Mr. Fredi. He let out an amused sigh in response to Bice's zeal. "His shop's called Devil May Cry, outsider. I should warn you again, since you don't know, that it's risky to be around that place."

Bice bulked herself up and slapped a hand against her skirt pocket. "But I have pepper spray!"

"…"

"Pepper spray!"

"…You're awfully desperate to do this, aren't you?"

"M-maybe."

"You like him."

"May-y-y-y-be."

"I still err on the side of caution, you know."

"Oh, I'm well aware. But Dante! I've never seen anyone like him. He's got to be one of the nicest guys out there, honestly. Okay, so I'm rambling a bit. In short… please?" And she gave him the most angelically imploring look she could possible muster. He crumbled to pieces against the doe eyes.

"Alright, alright. But be extremely careful. Come back here at the first sign of danger, do you understand?"

"Understood!" said Bice, inwardly screaming with unalloyed happiness.

"We've still got the moped out back. You want to take it out for a spin?"

Bice nodded excitedly, and Mr. Fredi ambled into his office to retrieve the keys. She rested a disbelieving hand against her forehead, sheened slightly with flecks of sundae. Majored in forensic science, she thought to herself, and this was where she ended up. It didn't matter much to her, though, because she'd found the guy of her dreams. She'd always hated the feeling of being head-over-heels for anyone, but for Dante she would make an exception. There was a sort of secretiveness about him, a dangerous air that instantaneously provoked fascination. She couldn't say she was quite in love with him, though. He was kind-hearted and easygoing, she could tell, and she wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know more about the handsome, compassionate, enigmatic Dante. That was all.

She would keep telling herself that until she believed it.

* * *

(Upcoming - Mission 2: Care)


	2. Care

**Mission 2: Care**

"W-w-why, _why_ did I take the moped?"

Bice kept asking herself that question, her little motorized bicycle bouncing along on the bricked roads of the rapidly darkening residential area. Dante's pizzas teetered precariously on the luggage carrier behind her, probably with their toppings plastered to the box's cover. Hitting another bump, she lurched forward, jolted around like some weather-beaten leaf in the midst of a hurricane. Both her neck and the delivery were sure to have a good number of objections when the ride was over.

Dusk was descending swiftly, painting the congested skyline with empurpled smoke trails and great swaths of darkness. The declining sun cast a warm gleam over the streets and robed the clouds overhead in gossamer shrouds of gold and violet. Night, as grand and magnificent as it seemed, was what Bice feared most. The last thing she needed was to get lost in the labyrinthine alleyways of this unfamiliar neighborhood, where all the structures, neoclassical and nestled against one another, all looked the same.

It was by the neon sign, situated proudly on a brick awning, that she identified Dante's shop. The words "Devil May Cry" cast a wan, flickering crimson light down on the staircase leading to the front of his establishment. At least, she'd been expecting a storefront.

The double doors of Dante's establishment appeared to have been ripped off from their hinges and lay strewn, in splintered pieces, across the sidewalk. Odd, she thought to herself, with a trembling smile that betrayed her true terror. Her heartbeat sounded like a rushing torrent of water in her ears, and it was a curious palpitation; the excitement of the hunter mixing with the trepidation of the hunted. She should've anticipated this. Dante was, after all, a renowned demon hunter, and delivering him pizzas would never be a walk in the park—or some romantic moonlight tryst.

"Hey, Dante?" she called, slowing to a gradual stop in front of the building, but received no answer from within its darkened interior.

The engine's dying throbs left her words dangling helplessly from the chill black night outside. She had one foot on the stoop's first landing, pizza boxes in hand, when the cracking of gunshots sent her tumbling backwards. The noise, grating against the stillness, exploded all around her again, mixed with cries of unendurable suffering, eldritch and terrifying and most definitely not human.

Bice stood there in front of Devil May Cry, knees trembling and knocking together in terror. She had to remember how to breathe—inhale, exhale, hold and release. The idea of demons being real received a short, candlelight flicker of recognition. In all honesty, she had anticipated Dante being some paranormal reality show host, someone who "hunted" devils for fun.

She was dead wrong.

It registered in her mind, against the incessant pounding of her heart, that she should simply come back at, in plainer terms, a better time. No need to get involved, she thought to herself, slinking away from the commotion.

And then something smashed into the pavement at her feet, sending jagged chunks of cement flying out in every direction. Bice fell, face-first into a pizza box, and let out an indignant, "What the heck?!"

She rolled onto her back, eyes squeezed shut in frustration, half expecting an apology from Dante or whoever it was that knocked her over. All she got was a bestial snarl, more terrible than anything she had ever heard in her life, in return. It dawned on her, like some earthshattering revelation, that Mr. Fredi had been completely and irrevocably right. Delivering pizzas to Dante was dangerous. More like deadly. She'd give him every right to say "I told you so" to her if she managed to leave the ordeal uneaten and undigested.

"D-Dante," Bice whispered, opening her eyes to see the massive, shadowy form of the demon before her. Its arms swirled about its hulking body like tendrils of mist, even darker than the black surrounding them. Eyes on a vaguely fish-like, ichthyic head winked at her, hungrily, and she couldn't stifle the scream that had jumped to her lips. "Dante, come and get your damn pizza before I get freaking tentacle raped!"

A plume of red unfurled in front of her, brushing up against her cheeks, and she found the hem of Dante's coat draped over her head

"So you _are_ my pizza delivery girl!" Dante's voice exclaimed, orotund and flippant. "Good to see you again, Bice. Don't worry 'bout the tentacles."

"I thought I was going to die!" she cried in objection, struggling to pull the muffler of his jacket from her face.

"Uh-uh," he said, and took a step back, in a repelling gesture, so that his pant leg pressed her back. "Show's not for you. Cover your eyes and count to ten."

"What? I—"

"One!" shouted Dante, followed by the strident, clarion battle-cry of a gunshot. "Keep going."

"T-two," Bice breathed, eyes hidden away beneath two tremulous hands. Another bullet exploded from Dante's firearm, and she could hear a sickening squelch of blood from where it penetrated the demon's flesh. "Three."

"Alright, let's do this," she heard Dante say, accompanied by the metallic ring of an unsheathed blade.

"Four!" Bice reminded him.

The only sounds that reached her were those of Dante's grunts and the monster's death throes.

"Five!"

Stab.

"Six!"

Hack.

"Seven!"

Slash.

"Eight!"

Screaming. And then silence.

"Nine… Ten?"

Bice panted in fright, peeking out through splayed fingers. Dante smiled down at her, his whitish hair obscuring those forget-me-not blue eyes in a characteristically devil-may-care fashion. He wielded an enormous sword, even longer than his entire body, with laughable ease, as if it were nothing. A pile of smoldering, blackish sludge lay at his heels, with a few stray wisps of cooling scud trailing off its surface.

She stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded. "…Nice."

"You don't seem surprised," he said, his head tilted inquisitively to one side.

"I'm just really good at hiding it."

"I see. And I also see those pizzas you've brought with you."

Bice heaved the proverbial sigh of relief. "You know what? I'll make sure that Mr. Fredi doesn't charge you for these ones. Just as thanks for saving my life and all."

"I would hope so!" cried Dante with a look of faux disgust, slinging the sword over his back. "Not after where those things have been…"

"What?"

"'Cause Bice-butt pizza."

She opened her mouth in protest, and then noticed, with a strong flush of embarrassment, that she had been sitting squarely atop the three pizza boxes.

"Had a comfy seat, huh?" asked Dante, extending a hand to help her up.

"Bet it tastes pretty good, too," Bice told him, finding that she was able to laugh for the first time that night. The sound of her own giggling sounded wonderfully ebullient in her ears. She took Dante's hand and got to her feet, ungracefully stumbling on numbed legs into his arms.

"Well," remarked Bice, burying her face unthinkingly into the soft folds of his shirt. "Isn't this just… cheesy?"

"What, the pizza?"

The next moment her unwonted joy shrank back, appalled, and made a hasty retreat into its shell of self-restraint. She pulled away, plucked the pizzas from the ground and handed them over.

"Um, enjoy your meal," she added, nervously tucking a rebellious lock of dark hair behind her ear.

"Hey," he called, just as she had begun to mound the moped. "Stay and have a slice."

"W-wow. That'd actually be really nice, but, you know, I don't want to give you any more trouble…"

"That was nothing. I wouldn't let ol' fish-face or his buddies get anywhere you and the pizza."

Bice let out another peal of laughter, hesitantly gravitating towards him. "That's awfully sweet of you. Well, I've never actually had Mr. Fredi's pizza myself so—"

"No way," he interjected. "Okay, lemme get this straight. You haven't tried his sundaes _or_ his pizza. You have no idea just how cheesy this stuff is. You haven't lived yet."

He said the last sentence so solemnly and with such a straight face that Bice couldn't help but accede to his desire. She followed him into Devil May Cry, through the empty doorpost, wondering all the while if he would ever get that fixed. The moiling, inky darkness was set alight by the glow of a ceiling-mounted lamp, momentarily blinding Bice in its brilliance.

"Too bright for you?" Dante inquired casually, throwing the pizzas down onto his desk.

A few flashing spots danced madly across her blurred field of vision, but she answered, "Nope. And—hold it!"

He froze, reaching halfway for the pizza in an opened box, with a look of utter confusion clinging to his face. "Wait what?"

"Are you seriously going to eat that pizza without washing your hands? I mean, seriously? After dicing up that… that _thing_, really?" She seized him by the wrist and extracted a bottle of hand sanitizer from her pocket, squeezing the gel onto his hand, gloves and all.

"Really?" he asked her in return. "I never took you for a germaphobe."

She shrugged her shoulders and squirted him with more hand sanitizer. "What can I say?"

Dante snatched a slice of pizza and strolled away, mumbling beneath his breath. "Really, here's the son of the Legendary Dark Knight, using moisturizing aloe hand sanitizer…"

"What was that?" asked Bice through a mouthful of dough and cheese.

"Nothing."

"Mm, so," she continued, her eyes roving restlessly around the room, "nice business you've got here. I really didn't believe Mr. Fredi when he told me what you do for a living. I'm just a girl from Boston after all, wasn't really expecting actual monsters to come out of the woodwork."

"Welcome to my world," said Dante with a smirk. "Boston, Mass, huh? Why'd you come out here?"

"I went to college nearby." Bice stopped to swallow a bite. "It's kind of weird. I majored in forensic science and… yeah, I'm delivering pizza now. I bet my parents are kind of pissed at this point."

"No kidding. But pizza beats forensics any day. I wouldn't worry too much. It's a crazy world out there; you're bound to find something better."

Bice wiped some crumbs from her mouth with the back of her hand and smiled gently. "I'm kind of happy the way things are going now." That was what led to meeting Dante, she thought to herself.

Dante blinked once, then twice, before letting out a laugh. "Glad you see it that way. Everything's looking pretty good right now, actually…"

"Are demons always coming after you?"

"…Basically."

At first, Bice wanted to ask why, but decided against it. "It was kind of scary, for me anyway. Probably not for you, but, I don't know… you're really brave to fight against those things. I have no idea how you do it. It's amazing."

"I have my ways," he said coyly. "At least there's someone around to appreciate my line of work."

"Mr. Fredi said it would be dangerous for me to be around you," she blurted.

"As much as I hate to admit it, the guy's got a point. I don't want anything weird targeting you for being too close to its prey. Get what I'm saying?"

"…Yeah. The crossfire looks especially scary from where I'm standing. B-but… I know nothing would happen to me, not as long as you're here."

"You're killing me," said Dante, flopping down in a chair behind his desk. "Needy one, aren't you…"

"Maybe," she said, leaning over the wooden surface so as to more carefully peruse his features. "But I think you're stuck with me. Mr. Fredi doesn't really have anyone else to be his delivery person."

"Huh?"

Bice darted away and took a sudden interest in examining the flat-screen television leaned against the wall. "Xbox, huh? So you like gaming?"

"From time to time. It's more like that one little break in the monotony of life."

"Ah, hey, you've got _DmC: Devil May Cry_? Let me ask, which came first, the game or your store?"

"The store, definitely," answered Dante, pointedly, glancing over his shoulder at Bice crouched by the TV, with video game in hand. "I swear someone stalked me and made a game out of my life. It's creepy."

"Considering the hero's name is Dante too, yeah."

"And just about everything else," grumbled Dante.

"Everything?"

"Err, you know, I've never actually played it before…"

"Me neither." She gave him a slow, shy smile. "Want to try now?"

Dante got to his feet and approached Bice, his arms folded confidently across his chest. "Wouldn't pass up a chance for more demon slaying."

* * *

(Upcoming - Mission 3: Deal)

"Let's make a deal. I beat _DmC_ by midnight and I get to ask you a favor, any favor. I don't, and you get to do the same."


End file.
